


Fait Accompli

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad French, Gen, Languages, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John go to France for a case. John doesn't speak French. But what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fait Accompli

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and comments on my first fic. Hope you enjoy this one too!  
> Disclaimer: Sherlock doesn't belong to me (and sadly, never will)

'John, you can't be serious. You must know at least a  _little_ French!'

John huffed, annoyed. He glanced up at his madman of a flatmate, who was currently lounged full-stretch across their sofa in his dressing gown (like the prima donna that he was!).

Sherlock was in a chatty mood tonight, probably because of the new case he’d been asked to help with - some French politician had been caught up in some huge money laundering scandal, or something. John hadn't really been listening to the details. He’d only found out about it when Sherlock had practically pounced on him excitedly that evening, informing him that they were off to Paris the next week.

John was glad of the holiday, he supposed. He hadn't been to France since that family cycling trip in the Loire Valley he'd gone on when he was ten. He _did_ have fond memories of that holiday…

However, the fact that he'd only actually been to France once was apparently not a legitimate reason for John not being absolutely fluent in French, according to a  _certain someone._

It turned out that Sherlock's mother was French (John had been rather surprised to hear Sherlock answer his phone with  _'Salut, Maman'_ one morning a couple of months ago), and so the Holmes brothers had been brought up bilingual, speaking English to their father and at school, and speaking with their mother in her native language.

Sherlock, who also happened to be fluent in eleven other languages (including German, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Arabic, Chinese, and, strangely, Swahili), couldn't seem to be able to wrap his massive brain around the idea that someone could have lived through almost forty years of their life without learning to speak  _en francais._

It's not like it was his fault, anyway. What with university, medical school, then the army and Afghanistan, John really hadn't had the time to brush up on his terrible, D- grade GCSE French.

'Well,' he grunted, irritated, 'It's not like we're all super-geniuses like you, Sherlock. Some of us actually find it hard to become fluent in a foreign language'

Sherlock snorted.

'Besides,' John continued, 'being a fantastic linguist isn't everything, you know. I have my other areas of expertise. Like medicine!'

He grunted and tried to get back to his newspaper, which is a pretty hard thing to do when you're being 'Sherlock-scanned'. John was well used to Sherlock staring at him oddly for long periods of time though, so he just got on with it.

Finally, having completed whatever analysis he had been making about John inside that brilliant mind of his, Sherlock spoke again, a smirk on his face.

'So…..you think that your not knowing French isn't a disadvantage in life? That you're not losing anything at all?'

'Not particularly, no'

'Don't want me to teach you a little before we go?'

John glared at him, giving up on his paper and reaching for the TV remote instead (at least  _it_  would be able to drown out the sound of his flatmate's drawling voice).

'I think I'm fine, thanks. Besides, I'll have you to talk for me, won't I?'

Sherlock grinned wickedly, the light from the TV casting shadows on his face.

'Yes, I suppose you will'

 

'Je vous remercie d'etre venu, Monsieur Holmes'

'Je vous en prie, Monsieur'

Their French client glanced curiously at John, standing awkwardly behind Sherlock. He was starting to regret not accepting Sherlock's offer to teach him already, and they'd only just arrived at the airport.

The Frenchman (some important official, John guessed) gestured politely at John.

'Et qui est cette personne la?'

'Oh,' Sherlock smiled, motioning John forward to shake the man's hand, 'voici mon petit ami, Jean'

John inwardly snickered at Sherlock's French pronunciation of his name.

Then he noticed the strange look the Frenchman was giving the two of them.

Was it something Sherlock had said?

He ran back Sherlock's words in his head. He was pretty sure  _ami_ meant friend….. _'petit ami?'_ Little friend? _Was Sherlock teasing him about his height again?!_

The man, Monsieur whatever-his-name-was, coughed awkwardly and his face reddened.

'Uhh…..d'accord, suivez-moi, s'il vous plait'

Sherlock smiled evilly at John as they turned to follow the man to the limo waiting for them. John frowned confusedly back.

_What the bloody hell is he up to now?_

__

All in all, the case went pretty well. Sherlock, of course, took barely two days to solve the puzzle. Apparently, the politician's political rival had set everything up to try to disgrace his opponent before the upcoming elections, or something. John didn't really get the entire gist of it, but he never usually did anyway.

Besides, as a reward for a job well done, they were offered three nights stay at one of the top Parisian hotels, with full breakfasts and dinners, as well as free passes to many of the city's main attractions. John found that he loved Paris, and no one could have made a more interesting and lively tour guide than Sherlock, who seemed to know the French capital almost as well as he knew his beloved London.

They took strolls down by the Seine, where they were photographed many times by, he assumed, fans of his blog. They were mostly young women, squealing and sighing as they gazed at the images they had taken on their phones or cameras.

John just hoped that they weren't getting the wrong idea from seeing he and Sherlock together in Paris.

Their room at the hotel had a double bed. John was extremely embarrassed when he saw this, but Sherlock hadn't seemed that surprised. He muttered something about that particular room being the only one that was available to them, and John was eventually forced to accept. He wouldn't be the type for turning down a stay at a five star hotel just because he was being forced to sleep with his manic, brilliant,  _male_  flatmate, after all.

But he did make Sherlock swear that absolutely  _under no circumstances_  could this incident ever make it back to London.

'Of course, John' Sherlock beamed (quite suspiciously, in John's mind). 'Wouldn't want people to talk, would we?'

 

Sherlock hadn't stopped introducing John as 'mon petit ami', whatever that meant. The reactions they got from this announcement were varied.

Some people looked slightly uncomfortable and awkward, some people glared openly, and some just nodded along like it hadn't bothered them at all.

Most of them grinned delightedly, and one young French policewoman had actually winked at John.

He, due to his shaky-at-best grasp of what was being said in the rapid conversations between Sherlock and the natives, had absolutely no idea what was going on.

He decided, more out of pride (and maybe embarrassment), that he would wait to ask Sherlock until they were returned home to London.

 

-Hey John, just want to let you know that I support you all the way, k?-Bill Murray

-Finally, John! I've been waiting for you to just admit for a looong time! You two are so cute together! :D-Harry Watson

-It's great that you feel comfortable enough to do this, John. I hope you'll be really happy with him-knew I did a good thing introducing you two! Pint later on? -Mike Stamford

 

'So, John. Enjoyed Paris, huh?'

Lestrade waggled his eyebrows at him, grinning.

Suddenly, John had had enough.

'Okay, would you mind telling me what the bloody hell is going on with that?!’

Lestrade's eyebrows stopped mid-wiggle. He frowned.

'What do you mean?'

John huffed, frustrated, catching a glimpse of Sherlock wandering around the crime scene (a living room. Dead women, in her fifties, found sitting in her armchair wearing a bright red necklace that had also been around the necks of the murderer's two other victims. No visible cause of death. Sherlock, bizarrely, was sniffing at the curtains).

'I've been getting all these weird texts and comments left on my blog. They're all 'Way to go, John!' and ‘One hundred per cent behind you, John!' and 'OMG you two are so cute, John!' And then when we were in France, whenever Sherlock introduced me people would give us these weird looks. I didn't know what the hell was going on, and now the same things have started to happen over here as well! I just don't get it'

The detective inspector stared at John, looking just a tad confused. Then, realization seemed to dawn on him.

'You don't speak French, do you?'

John sighed, shaking his head.

'Nope. And please don't tease me about that, Sherlock's done enough already'

Lestrade smiled sympathetically at him.

'I won't, don't worry. But I speak French. Can you remember what Sherlock said whenever he introduced you?'

'Ehh, yeah, I think' John replied, feeling very much like he had been left out of some big joke that everyone else seemed to find very amusing. 'He called me his ' _petit ami'_ , or something? What does that mean, little friend? Small friend?'

Lestrade burst out laughing. John glared.

Sherlock glanced over at this sudden outburst. Then, smiling (but looking a tiny bit…apprehensive?), he walked over to them.

'Bonjour, _mon_   _cher!’_ He beamed at John, then turned to snigger at Lestrade.

The detective inspector calmed down a bit.

'Sherlock, you really shouldn't. That's not fair, you know it isn't!' he chuckled.

John, feeling oddly calm, grabbed Sherlock by his coat collar, dragging his flatmate's six-foot frame down to his own level.

'Alright, Sherlock. Want to clue me in?'

Sherlock smiled nervously and shrugged out of his grip.

'Sorry. Have to examine the body. Lestrade?'

And before John could blink, Sherlock was away down to where the body was being kept downstairs.

John turned to Lestrade expectantly.

The man sighed. He dug out his phone and began typing away.

'Alright, so you can't speak French. Then I assume you don't know what this means?'

He held up a picture of what looked to be a French tabloid's front cover on his phone. Printed across a picture of John and Sherlock walking along the Seine at sunset (he knew he shouldn't have trusted those fans!), were the words:  **Sherlock et John: Petits Amis!**

_Uh oh._

'Lestrade,' asked John, a dangerous glint in his eye, 'what exactly does  _petit ami_ mean?'

Lestrade smiled weakly, and brought up something else on his phone, typing again for a few seconds. He held it out to John, who saw google translate on the screen. Lestrade sauntered away as John typed in the two French words, hoping beyond hope that the one word he _definitely did not want to see_  did not come up on the English side.

It did.

'SHERLOCK, YOU'RE DEAD!'

 

 

Translations:

_Salut, Maman -_  Hi mum

En francais - in French

Je vous remercie d'etre venu, Monsieur Holmes - Thank you for coming, Mr Holmes

Je vous en prie, Monsieur - You are welcome, sir

Et qui est cette personne la? - And who is this person?

Voici mon petit ami, Jean - This is my boyfriend, John

D'accord, suivez-moi, s'il vous plait - Okay, follow me, please

Bonjour, mon cher- Hello, my dear

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! (And pardon my French......XD)


End file.
